


Through the Peaks and Twisty Canyons

by Kazzy



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, F/M, Graphic, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Multi, OT3, Smut, Tommy is alive, lots of hurt and lots of comfort, spoilers 1x23
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazzy/pseuds/Kazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end it feels like they’re finally finding the beat for the dance they’ve been dancing nearly half their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this for Laurel Appreciation week (#LaurelWeek on Tumblr). It's another older one that I'm bringing out. This fits Day 5: Favourite Laurel pairing. ~~It's also less angsty than some of my other works.~~
> 
> Picks up from the end of season one. No spoilers for season two.

Tommy is in surgery for hours, through the night and into the dawn. Her father stays with her for part of it but is called back to the station before long. All hands are needed on deck to help with the crisis, to help recover the injured and trapped, to help keep violence from spreading, to keep people calm. Laurel knows she should help as well and that’s there’s nothing she can do for Tommy here but she can’t quite bring herself to move from the hard plastic chair she’s managed to find in the crowded waiting room.

According to the news – playing round the clock coverage on the small TV set high on the wall – there are so many injured that hospitals are overflowing and people are dying because there’s not enough medical staff to treat them. The death toll is currently estimated above two hundred but expected to keep rising as they dig out bodies from the rubble and people die from their injuries, as the violence spreads, as the already impoverished areas of the city will now be without power or running water for days, if not weeks.

Whatever Malcolm Merlyn, now missing, could have been thinking, how could he believe this would ever do any good?

“Laurel?”

Lost deep in thought and misery she jumps at the sound of her name. When she turns toward the source, she finds a dusty looking Oliver, having appeared seeming out of mid-air. His expression is blank, eyes glazed, mouth set. Without a doubt she knows he’s heard about Tommy. For a second she doesn’t know what to say, what to do, because Tommy might still die and as heartbroken as she is right now she can’t help but spare some space for him. Because Tommy and Oliver have been friends for so long, longer than she’s known them, longer than any of them can remember.

“Ollie,” she says and with conscious thought she’s out of her seat and wrapping her arms around him.

He doesn’t react immediately standing frozen as she tries to coax to relax into the embrace with a gentle pressure to the back of his neck and the moulding of her body to hers. Then he suddenly wraps his arms around her with a grip so tight she almost can’t breathe, pressing his cheek to hers, lips brushing the edge of her jaw. At all points where they touch she can feel the faintest of tremors running through him.

Using as much room as he’ll allow – his grip not loosening in the slightest – Laurel draws back so she can see his face. He’s more battered than she first realised, the kind of battered that might be the result of a fight. Has someone attacked him because of his family’s part in last night’s attack? People are very angry right now, and although there is no evidence that Oliver participated in the evening’s events he would make an easy target. So would Thea, so would Tommy and the other families of those involved in Malcolm Merlyn’s attack on The Glades.

“Ollie, are you all right?” she cups his cheek to guide his gaze back to her face.

He shakes his head abruptly but not in denial as he focuses fully on her for the first time. “Are you all right?”

Unknowingly his arm is pressing against a bruise on her side and she’s covered in aches which have been compounded by sitting in the plastic chair for a couple of hours. But the nurse who checked her over pronounced her as being free of internal bleeding, broken bones or a head injury – though she was given a checklist of symptoms to look for, just in case.

But Oliver’s presence is helping and she feels safer with his arms wrapped around her. At the same time, though, she’s becoming aware that the attention of other people in the room is starting to drift from their own internal contemplation or from the TV screen. Given that his picture has been flashing up on screen every forty five minutes or so, he’s about ten seconds away from being recognised. As gently as she can manage, she detaches herself from his arms but takes his hand in hers.

“I’m fine, Ollie. Come on.” She leads him out into the corridor and down from the waiting room until they’re alone.

“Tommy?” he asks his breath hitching on the second syllable.

Laurel shivers, wishing he was still holding her and that she had better news for him. “Still in surgery.” Her eyes drop to his chin and then to his shoulder at his disappointment. She knows he’s not angry with her, just frustrated that there isn’t more information.

Oliver’s dressed in dark colours so the stain on his shoulder isn’t immediately apparent but it’s there and she has a sneaking feeling she knows what caused it. “Ollie, what’s that?” She taps the mark lightly and her fingers come away a smear of blood as he winces.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it isn’t!” Under any other circumstances she might be relieved for a distraction from her worry about Tommy but she’s now too worried about both of them. She fusses with his shirt in order to find the wound to see how bad it is and if he needs medical treatment.

Her movement is arrested when Oliver’s hands capture hers and lift them away from himself then he steps out of range. “I’m fine, Laurel.” And now he does seem angry.

“Ollie...” she trails off, looking for the right words to convince him that he needs to be treated.

“Look around, Laurel. _My family_ did this. _My_ mom. _My_ dad.” His voice breaks and she can see his eyes watering. Hers begin to well up in response “I’m fine. These people need help, not me.”

“This isn’t your fault, Ollie. Not yours, not Tommy’s. Not Thea’s. You didn’t do this.” She doesn’t believe it – not for a second. She cannot believe that either of the men she’s loved nor the girl she’s known since she was a toddler have had any part in tonight events.

Oliver shakes his head in denial. “I could have stopped this.” She freezes instinctively but his next words dispel any fear she has that he might have been involved. “I tried but there was a second device. I failed.” Something in his words strike her as wrong but she can’t decipher precisely what she is missing.

Laurel is crying freely now but she barely notices the tears rolling down her face. With care she steps into his space and isn’t sure if she should be glad or worried that he doesn’t back away from her again. She rests a hand against his cheek and he presses into it. “Ollie this isn’t your fault,” she repeats. “It’s theirs – his, Malcom’s.”

He still doesn’t believe her. His mouth is set and there’s no trace of easing in his expression. But he is leaning into her touch so she takes a chance and wraps her arms around him again being careful of his injury. For long moments they cling together in the hospital corridor taking what little meagre comfort they can from each other.

Laurel buries her face in crook of his good shoulder breathing in the familiar scent and for a second time something tickles against her awareness and she almost has it but a ringing phone disturbs before she can fully grasp at it. Oliver breaks away with a murmured apology while Laurel tries to pull at whatever is hovering just below the surface of her thoughts.

“Thea? Where are you?” Her attention snaps back to him. “Okay. Stay there. Don’t go out.... Who?.... No, don’t. Just go home.... Thea.... Thea.... Thea, _listen_. I’m in The Glades. I’ll find him and bring him to you....” he winces slightly. “I’m at St Agatha’s....Tommy’s here....No. No. Thea you need to go home....Laurel’s here, she’s going to stay with him—” he glances at her and she nods— “you need to stay home because if someone figures out who you are....

Given how stubborn Thea is it takes Oliver several minutes longer to convince his sister to stay home where the security team will be able to ensure her safety. To Laurel’s – and undoubtedly, Oliver’s – relief he seems to accomplish this by continuously promising that he would look for Roy, keep himself safe and make sure Laurel and Tommy were safe.

“I have to go.”

Laurel would like to protest otherwise but she’s too concerned about Thea to ever voice that want. “Your shoulder?” she says instead.

“It’s fine.”

Contrary to popular opinion, Laurel has always been able to spot when Oliver is lying to her. She’s just really good at pretending he isn’t. This time is no different. “Be safe,” she tells him.

Without warning he leans in and kisses her. It’s little more than a brief press of his lips against hers but it serves as a vivid reminder of their night together. That they have tentatively agreed to begin a relationship. That regardless of the sudden crystallisation of the strength of her feelings for Tommy she is also still in love with Oliver. Before she can say anything more, though, he leaves moving down the corridor and around the corridor disappearing almost as quickly as he appeared. She is left staring after him and wanting to either cry or bang her head against the wall.

In the end there’s nothing she can do to solve her relationship woes with either of them and there are far more pressing issues weighing on her mind. She can’t do anything to help Tommy right now either. So she heads out to see if the hospital staff will accept her as a volunteer even if it’s for something like passing out blankets or coffee or simply comforting victims and their families. Anything to pass the time that doesn’t include sitting in those awful chairs watching the same news broadcasts over and over again.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter clocks in a little over 5500 words. Most chapters will be between 3000-6000. There is no smut in this chapter. But there is Felicity and Diggle.

-x-x-x-

Oliver forces himself not to look back as he leaves the hospital. Laurel and Tommy have no idea of the hold they both have over him and the tug he feels to stay here and make sure they’re safe. They’re both targets right now which is his fault; if he’d only managed to stop Malcolm in time, if he’d only been smart enough to realise that there would be a second device – then they wouldn’t be in danger now.

Nor would Thea or this Roy that she cares so much about – as much as he hates to admit it, wishes it isn't happening, the kid seems to have crawled under his sister's skin. And he can't argue with her about it, despite not having any idea how they met – Thea is deliberately vague on the topic.

But if Oliver is to prevent his sister from doing anything stupid he's going to have to make sure Roy is all right – safe. Even if that means delivering him to her.

Working his way through the streets is difficult. Many of the buildings are still intact in this area, but there are cars – crashed, parked and moving. His bike is capable of weaving between and around with little effort, but does nothing for the people who are in the street. He's in a hurry, but when he sees a man threatening a young couple and their baby with a knife he's not prepared to go on without doing anything.

He turns in a tight loop and heads right for the knife-wielder, knocking into him before he can do more than take a step closer to the small family. The man is swept off his feet, the knife flying away and clattering into the dark. He climbs to his feet shaking, bleeding from a graze on the side of his face. He's young, early twenties at most, dark hair and dark eyes, heavy black clothes.

“Get lost.” The kid presses his lips together and looks like he's going to stand his ground until Oliver revs the engine. As a weapon the bike is inefficient – he can do so much more with his bare hands, but right now he's Oliver Queen, not the Vigilante. Even after tonight he can't quite do anything to jeopardise that so he's relieved when the would-be mugger takes off in the opposite direction.

“Thank you.” There's a slight lilt in the voice – Eastern European, but not Russian. Oliver turns back to the couple. The woman is clutching her child who is whimpering the man has taken half a step forward, hands open, a little outstretched. The words seem to have taken a lot to say, neither is smiling nor relieved.

Oliver nods in acknowledgement but he's lingered too long because the woman gasps and moves closer. “I know you! You're –”

He kicks the bike into gear and takes off before she can get another word out. He's in a hurry but he's travelled less than half the distance to Verdant before he stops to help two paramedics pull an old woman and her adult grandson from the wreckage of their car. No one seems to recognise him and he leaves in peace, stopping once more to prevent the robbery of a dry cleaners – the owners look at him, confused, like he might be familiar.

By this time of night, Verdant should be pumping, people coming and going, music spilling out on to the street, taxis waiting patiently at the curb. But there's no one here, no one in nearly a block's radius of the place. It's dark and silent, deserted, eerie. There are signs of damage around the front doors, maybe earthquake caused, maybe caused by angry people. He doesn't stop to look, instead heading around to the side entrance, taking his bike with him, not willing to lose his only mode of transport for the time being.

He lets himself inside, surprised to hear voices – Felicity should be at home and Diggle in the hospital, which is where he left them both. Taking care to extend his senses and keep his footsteps silent, he walks along the corridor to the main room. But before he reaches the main area, he can hear the voices have the slow, serious intonation of newscasters.

Felicity is sitting at the computers, her back to him, shoulders hunched, staring at the screen as a news channel he doesn't recognise plays footage of the wreckage he's just driven through. His stomach clenches as a voice over starts naming those know to be involved in the attack on the Glades and both his parents are named. The camera swings back to a man standing outside what appears to have once been a church and he speculates about who else could have been involved – Oliver, Tommy and Thea all being named as possibilities. Though what they think his eighteen year old sister was supposed to have being doing as a perpetrator of a terrorist attack, he doesn't known.

“What are you doing here?”

Felicity jumps and spins to face him, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh god. Oliver.” Her eyes are clear, but circled by dark shadows.

He moves further into the dim light. “I thought you went home.” He’d checked on her briefly before going to the hospital, she can’t have been back here for long.

She presses her lips together and shrugs. “I even went to bed, and then I lay there and realised there was no way I was getting any sleep so I came back here to see if there was anything I could do. There isn't and I don't feel any better, but I can't go home either. I just keep thinking about all those people...” her voice trails off and she swallows. “I went outside, but realised that I'm useless in this kind of situation...”

Fear squeezes his heart, even though she's there, right in front of him, obviously not injured. “You shouldn't have done that. You could have been hurt – or worse.” His world has crumbled tonight and he can't stand the thought that someone else he cares about could have been taken from him.

She shakes her head. “Have you had your shoulder looked at yet?”

“I'm fine.” The bleeding has stopped and he didn't hit anything major.

Her eyes narrow. “You promised. Here, sit down. Take your shirt off.” She sweeps her hand towards the first aid area.

He considers arguing but there's a set to her mouth that warns him off and there's no convenient call from a hysterical Thea to distract him. “I need you to see if you can find Roy Harper,” is the only weak protest he offers as she crowds him across the room.

“Okay.” His eyebrows go up when she capitulates. “When I've looked at your shoulder.”

“I don't have time for this.” But he shrugs out of the jacket and perches on the edge of the gurney. He feels his skin twist, a fresh sting indicating he's pulled the wound open. The stain on his shirt reveals that he's bled more than he thought he would, but he unbuttons it, ignoring Felicity's gasp of horror.

The shirt pulls away from his skin, causing further blood to swell up. She makes a face but she cleans the injury carefully, a dull pink glow in her cheeks. Usually it’s Diggle who cares for his injuries and Felicity is awkward and almost too gentle. “You're lucky I'm not squeamish about blood.” She reaches for the liquid sutures, licking her lips and he notices she's not wearing any make-up. “I certainly see enough of yours.” There's something heavy in her voice and he looks away from where she's smoothing a bandage over his skin to see she's now far too pale.

“Hey.” He waits until she looks up. “I'm going to be fine.”

She draws back. “You stabbed yourself!” Without waiting for a response, she moves around to his back and her treatment of the exit wound is not quite as gentle. “Done,” she says after a couple of minutes and seconds later he hears water running in the sink in the small bathroom.

He cleans up the mess and finds himself a clean shirt – he keeps spares, just for this kind of situation. By the time he's dressed, being careful not to undo her work, she's at the keyboard, tapping away. Felicity's quiet, not speaking, as she does so, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Pulling up the GPS to track Roy's phone finds him at a point not far from CNRI. 

As soon as he has the location he's on his way out asking her to keep him updated if the kid moves. He grabs the helmet he’d forgotten last time. He’s had more than enough recognition for one day. Sooner or later the reaction is going to be negative and he has too much to worry about to deal with angry Starling City residents.

“Oliver. There's something I should tell you...”

He pauses and looks back. “Can it wait?” The pounding in his blood is telling him to find Roy, deliver him to Thea, and then get back to Laurel and Tommy at the hospital.

Felicity is not looking at him, instead staring at one of her screens, where the news is still playing, muted. Malcom Merlyn's face is staring out. Although they've somehow found a picture of him that is cold and unsmiling, all Oliver can see is his best friend's father. Not the man who murdered his father, not the man who dished him out two beatings, not the man who's responsible for hundreds of deaths.

“No,” she says. The screen flicks back to the anchor. “It can wait.”

-x-x-x-

Roy Harper is about two blocks from CNRI, helping a rescue team move building debris from a building. The sky is lightening in the background, but Oliver doesn't think being able to see the wreckage will be at all helpful to his current state of mind. In this part of the city the damage is the worst, no building has four complete walls and most are at least partially collapsed into piles of rubble with gaping holes in the remaining structure. Cars are crushed under the weight of bricks and timber, some sitting in gashes running through the streets. Water is gushing from somewhere unseen, filthy and smelling.

Oliver ignores it and wonders how he missed the extent of the damage when he raced to CNRI. He’d been so focussed on saving Laurel, he had ignored everything else. Now he turns away, to focus on keeping Thea from attempting something dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” Roy's lip curls when he sees Oliver, but he drops the concrete block he’s carrying. Oliver notes that the kid’s hands are dirty, bloody, fingernails torn and shaking a little. He voice is a little rough and his words slurred.

“Thea wants me to make sure you are safe.” Oliver resists curling his hands into fists and reflects that as irritating as the kid is, he still likes him better than the last one Thea dated.

“And you always do what your sister says?” His tone is mocking and Oliver's patience is near snapping point, not capable of dealing with a bratty kid after the night he's just had.

“I do when it stops her coming down here to look for you herself.”

Roy's shoulders go back for maybe half a second before slumping down, too tired to put up that much of a fight. “Well, you can tell her I'm fine. I'm still helping people.” But that's not going to cut it with Oliver because he can see with his own eyes that Roy is probably on the verge of collapse, exhausted and worn down by the night's events.

“You in charge of this one?” Both look over at the woman who interrupted them. She's as tall as Oliver and as broad as Diggle, she's tired and her mouth is set.

“Why?” Oliver asks, guarded. “What's he done?”

“We've chased him off twice. He's not fit to be here. Look at him! He's about to fall over.” Oliver gives Roy another long look. The kid is still pale and visibly trembling, now leaning on a support for balance, eyes glazed.

“I'm all right.” The words would have had more effect if his knees didn't take that moment to buckle. Oliver catches him by the elbow and wonders if he should just knock the kid out to carry him back to Thea. “I just need a moment.” He jerks out of Oliver's grasp but nearly topples over.

“You need sleep and food.” The woman's tone softens a little, seeming to decide that Roy is Oliver's problem. “He's been here for hours. We appreciate his help, but if he sticks around he's going to get himself, or someone else, hurt.”

Oliver nods and catches Roy at the elbow again, hoping he's not going to fall off the motorbike. Roy makes a half-hearted attempt to free himself but gives in very quickly. “I'm not going with you.”

“Too bad.” He takes several steps back, taking Roy with him. The kid stumbles but is clearly well enough to move on his own.

“Hey.” They both look back at the woman. “Aren't you...” She's frowning at Oliver, looking him up and down.

“No.” Oliver pulls and unresisting Roy back to his bike and makes him put on the helmet just in case he really does topple off the bike. Turning up to tell Thea that her boyfriend is in the hospital because of him will not work out well for anyone.

-x-x-x-

“Shit, your driveway's long.” Roy is still shaking as he gets off from behind Oliver, but he's regained some colour and his words are no longer slurred. He managed to stay on the bike for the whole ride.

Oliver frowns at the language, but before he can say anything, Thea's rushing out of the house to throw her arms around Roy either not noticing or not caring about his filthy state. 

Oliver clears his throat and the two of them jump, looking over at him: Thea guilty, Roy belligerent. A heartbeat later Thea's throwing her arms around him and whispering 'thank you' in his ear. He hugs her back, glad to see her safe and at home but he knows she's not going to like what he's going to tell her in a few minutes.

Inside he asks for the acting head of security for an update. He’s relieved to find that everyone is present and accounted for – it would seem either loyalty or money has been enough to keep the security team at their posts. At least this way he can keep the people he cares about safe when he’s not there to do it himself. The order to send bodyguards to Tommy’s hospital room might be unconventional but at least there’ll be people there who he can trust to keep his friend – and by extension, Laurel – safe.

His measures for keeping Thea safe are going to be a little more standard, but poorly received.

“You can’t just lock me up! I am not a child or a prisoner. You don’t have the right.”

Oliver is unmoved. He sees Thea’s point and Thea’s position he’s have the same reaction. But he wants her safe. There’s enough variables in play out there he can’t stand the thought she might be injured when he’s not there to stop it. “You wouldn’t be safe out there.”

“And you are?” She's standing almost toe-to-toe with him. Her face is pink and her eyes are practically sparking. Roy is watching them both, eyes darting back and forward, startled.

Oliver is perfectly capable of defending himself. Starling City is going to have to throw a lot at him if they want to take him out. Besides he needs to get back to the hospital to see Laurel and Tommy. “This isn't about me, Thea.”

“Yes it is! What makes you think you're any safer out there than I am?” She's almost as tired as Roy is, but she has a point.

He just can't tell her she's wrong. “I can take care of myself.” He doesn't want Thea involved with this part of his life, and she's already come so close with The Undertaking.

“No, Ollie, you can't. Anything could happen to you out there. You're all I have left.” Her voice cracks on the last words and she presses a hand to her mouth.

Gently he rests his hands on her shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Roy moving forward, his own exhaustion forgotten in concern for Thea. “I need to check on Tommy and Laurel. I'll wear the helmet until I'm in the hospital and chances are everyone there will be too worried about their families to notice me. It's going to be okay.”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, when she opens them there's tears shinning in them. She steps forward to him and buries her face in his chest – something she hasn't done since she was _four_. Automatically he wraps his arms around her, holding her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“How could they do this, Ollie?” she asks. “How could they think it was a good idea?” her voice is muffled by his shirt. In the background Roy is still hovering, unsure.

“I don't know,” he answers honestly, rocking her back and forward a little, like he used to do when she was four. It's a cold comfort that neither of their parents had seemed to want the Undertaking to happen because their father is still dead, their mother arrested for terrorism.

Thea pulls back, cheeks damp, but no tears falling. “Go and find out about Tommy and then call me, okay?”

He nods. “Get some sleep.” He looks up at Roy, flicks his hand back and forward between the two. “Separate rooms.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes but doesn't argue beyond a tired, “You're not my father, Ollie.” And she's right, she's eighteen – compared to him at eighteen she's almost saintly, drug charges notwithstanding – but he's going worry about her anyway. Bringing Roy to her might have kept her out of the Glades but he's still a danger. After all it's Roy who wants to find the Vigilante and was using Thea to help him do it. If the Vigilante were anyone other than Oliver, it would be a dangerous mission.

The wave of exhaustion hits him as he puts on his helmet. In the last forty eight hours he's had no more than three hours sleep and with the stress, fear and horror, not to mention his injuries from fighting Malcolm he just wants to go somewhere and curl up. But there are still people who need him and it's likely that any rest he gets will be not be peaceful, so he heads out.

-x-x-x-

He stops at Starling City General first to see Diggle, only to find the man himself leaving, arm tucked in a sling, Carly and a kid Oliver assumes is his nephew at his side. Carly gives Oliver an icy look but takes her son off to one side so the two men can talk.

“They letting you out, already?”

Diggle shakes his head. “I checked myself out. They need the bed for other people.” He pauses. “Have you heard about Merlyn...senior, I mean?”

“What about him?” Oliver asks, eyes narrowing, heartbeat picking up, fists clenching.

Diggle studies Oliver for long seconds. “He’s missing.”

Oliver’s blood runs cold and he sucks in a deep breath. “What?”

“He’s missing.”

“He was dead, Dig.”

“According to the news he hasn’t been apprehended.”

Oliver would like to point out that maybe that means they just haven’t found the body yet, but he knows that’s untrue. Malcolm’s apartment is the first place they’d look for him and it’d only take a second to see that a fight had gone down then follow the path of destruction out to the balcony.

“I killed him.” He has the hole in his shoulder to prove it. Unconsciously he flexes his left arm.

Diggle glances around but there’s no one in earshot. “We never checked.” They’d been too consumed with the sight of the crumbling city and escaping to prevent discovery. But that doesn’t excuse them from being sloppy. And if Malcolm is still alive…well, that’s a frightening thought.

Oliver sighs. “I’ll get Felicity to check on it. Get some rest.”

“You going to take that advice yourself?”

“I’ve got too much to do.” He has to get back to check on Laurel and Tommy.

Dig narrows his eyes and opens his mouth, but seems to decide against whatever he was going to say. “Take care of yourself, Oliver. You’re no good to anyone if you work yourself to death.”

Oliver waves to Carly and AJ as he heads out. AJ waves back, Carly just glares.

-x-x-x-

He collects two coffees on his way into St Agnes’. It’s unlikely to be any good, but the caffeine is the main objective here for himself and for Laurel. He’s not convinced though, that the grumpy barista used Laurel’s preferred soy milk but regular milk. He’d nearly complained but the fifty had been the only thing keeping the girl from announcing his presence to everyone in the vicinity. He didn’t want to give her more fuel for whatever is was about his presence that she finds so offensive.

“What room is Tommy Merlyn in?” he asks the receptionist. The room is full of chairs and there are plenty of people leaning on walls or sitting on the floor. Many have blankets for comfort, some have what appears to be field dressings to hold them over until they can see a doctor.

“Are you a relative?” there are dark circles under her eyes and deep lines around her mouth. She picks up a mug, sitting beside the computer, swallows and grimaces at the taste.

“Sure,” he says, smile wide and empty. Mentally he prepares several plans for when this goes south. First on the list is Felicity. Actually Felicity is where his plan begins and ends. If she can get him the room number and location he can get to the room – even if means scaling the external walls or jumping from the roof of another building. Trying to charm his way in is going to be the harder option, today.

All of his scheming goes to waste, though. Her lips purse and her eyes run up and down him. She shrugs, tapping into her computer for the details. “ICU. Room 412.”

Oliver doesn’t call her on it, but he’s very glad for the bodyguards he placed on the door with strict instructions on who is allowed in and out. He makes a note to talk with hospital security on his way out.

At Tommy’s room, there is not only the two bodyguards – who nod at him in greeting – but two uniformed cops. Both looking vaguely uncomfortable with the presence of the personal security and straighten at the sight of him.

“Mr. Queen.” The woman greets him, the man just watches him with a wary expression that Oliver is beginning to recognise.

“Hey guys.” He keeps his smile the same slightly vacant one that he finds is most effective against people who might want to give him a piece of their minds. “You know I assigned two members of my family’s security team to watch him right?” It’s not a dismissal, but he doesn’t bother to hide that he’s prefer it if they left.

“Mr. Merlyn is considered to be a possible target of retaliation.” The woman points out. “When he wakes up he’ll need to be questioned to find out how much he knew about last night’s attack.”

“Nothing. He knew nothing. He was as horrified as the rest of us.” Oliver finds he’s suddenly out of energy to pretend to be polite. “And now he’s barely alive. Excuse me.” He pushes the door open and steps into the room, closing it firmly behind him.

Laurel is sitting a chair beside the bed, chin resting on her chest, shoulders slumped. He sets the coffee cups on a bedside table. Tommy – lying on the bed, still, quiet and pale – is attached to more machines than Oliver had previously thought possible. But he doesn’t seem to be connected to any kind of oxygen tank. If he’s breathing on his own that means the bar missed his lungs, which is good right?

Oliver turns back to Laurel, who hasn’t stirred, lightly rests a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. She jerks, blinks several times like she might be having trouble opening her eyes. After a second she manages to focus on him.

“Ollie?”

“Hey.”

She pushes herself to her feet and he pulls her into a hug. For long minutes they stand, wrapped around each other, taking comfort. He breathes her in, the dust from the collapse of CNRI hiding underneath her shampoo – the one he remembers from their night together and different from the one she used from before when the Queen’s Gambit went down. She is warm and soft in his arms so he allows himself to relax, take a in a few moments of peace.

Outside the room the entire world is in pieces. Somehow he’s going to have to deal with the remaining mess, try and salvage as much he can. He’s not sure Laurel can be part of that. Tommy’s brush with death proves just how fragile the lives of the people he cares about really are. He cannot allow Laurel to be hurt. If he’s going to continue to protect the city then he can’t allow any weaknesses, not again.

But he is, after all, a profoundly selfish person. If he weren’t, he would be able to let go of Laurel.

“Are you all right?” she asks, pulling back and reaching up to cup his cheek, palm soft.

He leans into her touch, his body refusing to lie for him. “I’m fine.” 

“Your shoulder?” her grip changes and she moves her hands down to push his jacket aside.

Gently he arrests the movement, holding her hands between their bodies. He brushes his lips against her knuckles, tasting the salt of her skin. “I’m fine.” He repeats. “I had someone look at it.”

Laurel’s BS-o-metre is clearly in overdrive. She narrows her eyes and studies his face for long moments before nodding, expression softening into one of concern. “How did that happen anyway?”

He shrugs and hides a wince at the sharp stab of pain. “Someone angry about what happened in the Glades.” It’s not even a complete lie.

After that it takes him several minutes to convince her he is fine and that he wore the motorcycle helmet when outside so no one could see his face. She’s not convinced or impressed, even by the helmet sitting at the door but she can’t convince he shouldn’t be out alone. If he’s going to have anyone as protection, it’s going to be Diggle and that’s out of the question at the moment.

“You should go home and get some sleep,” he tells her to cut the discussion off when it keeps going round and around to each point over and over again.

“No, I need to stay here. In case…” she throws a look at Tommy but doesn’t finish her statement.

“I can stay here.” Even if he didn’t have the same drive she does to keep watch, he’d at least have a reprieve here in this room. But, as it stands, he has as much need to see Tommy well as anyone – including Laurel.

“You need rest, as well.”

“You need it more.” He is heading to the end of what he’s able to endure without at least an hour or two of sleep, but he’s fine for now. He can last a little longer especially if it means Laurel will be able to have even a short respite.

She frowns and nods, a slight flick of her head. “I’m going to go and have a shower. Then I’m coming back and you’re the one who’s going to go and get some sleep.”

“Of course,” he tries to smile, but mostly fails.

“And Ollie…” her eyes slide sideways to Tommy for a second. Oliver’s heart starts pounding at the gesture. He’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good. “We need to talk sometime soon.” He was right, it isn’t anything good.

He tries to hide his flinch but doesn’t quite manage if the shift in her expression is any indication. “Sure. Whenever you want.”

Moments later he’s startled as she steps forward, in close. But he doesn’t resist the hand that presses to the back of his neck, letting her guide his head down. She doesn’t kiss him, she lets him make the decision. And he’s not sure what that means but he settles his lips over hers anyway.

If he had any intention of this being a short kiss, sweet and brief, he quickly finds it anything but. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer, pushing a leg between hers. For the first time in hours he is fully and totally awake, losing himself in her. He’s the one that deepens the kiss, teasing her lips apart but she lets him, humming against his mouth.

Eventually they break apart, breathing a little heavy but he keeps her close for long minutes. He doesn’t know how much longer they’re going to be together – whether her feelings for Tommy or his mission to protect the city are going to keep them apart or not – so he’s going to savour whatever moments he has left.

“I’m going to go now,” she says after a moment.

“Yeah.” He watches her go, letting his hand follow her waist until she steps out of his grip.

The door shuts quietly and he turns back to the bed, Tommy still sleeping quietly.

Oliver pulls out his phone to call Felicity. He spares a moment to wonder if he really shouldn’t be using the device in the hospital before deciding that he’s never heard of anyone dying by cell phone and it really is important.

“’liver…?” says the scratchy voice on the other end of the line. “What’s…wrong?” she asks through a yawn.

“Are you at home?” he asks. There’s a peculiar echo that associates with only one place. He really hopes she’s finally gone home, but he’s not holding his breath.

“No, I just fell asleep at my desk.” There’s a soft groan and he supposes she’s sitting up, stretching a little. “That was a bad idea.”

“Felicity, you really need to go home and get some rest.”

“I just need some caffeine. What do you need me to…uh, how can I help? Uh. Cold coffee.” He hear a clank of a mug hitting her desk.

“You really should go home…”

“Oliver. I need to help.” Her answer is short and a little sharp. He’d blame it on the exhaustion but Felicity has never been inclined to put up with him telling her what to do.

“What have you been doing?” he asks out of curiosity. The last he’d seen of her, she’d been watching the news.

“Uh, hacking into news sites?”

He hadn’t expected that answer. “Why?”

“Well, I thought that what the media says about something is usually what people believe. So I’ve been changing the public opinion on you, making it more positive. I’ve also been creating accounts to leave a bunch of positive comments. And by you, I mean you, not the Vigilante. Though I could do that to.”

“Oh, thanks.” He hadn’t thought of doing that – would never have thought of doing that he has to admit that it does seem like a productive idea.

“No problem. I do feel bad, manipulating people’s opinions like that…it seems very big brother-like. Ministry of Truth. Making people believe what we want them to believe… but you didn’t call to hear me talking about that. What can I do?”

“I need you to see if you can track Malcolm Merlyn. Find out where he went.”

“I’ll do my best,” she assures him. Already her voice is clearer and he can hear the click of keys in the background. “I’ll start with CCTV see if the cameras picked anything up, check police reports…”

“You could also get some sleep.”

There’s a pause. “I’ll sleep when you do.” The line disconnects. Oliver stares at his phone for a long minute before tucking it back into his pocket.

He sinks into the chair that Laurel had been sleeping in when he’d walked into the room. Concentrating on staying awake, in case Tommy woke up and needed something, Oliver took one of his oldest friend’s hands in his own. In a similar motion to the one he’s given Laurel earlier he brushes his lips across Tommy’s knuckles.

-x-x-x-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally left two paragraphs out at the start. Sorry people.

By the time she’d arrived at the hospital, Laurel had been covered in Tommy’s blood – more than she’d thought possible for a person to lose and still survive. As the hospital staff and her father had coaxed him away from her she hadn’t even been sure he was still breathing. But apparently there had been enough signs of life that they’d taken him into surgery anyway.

And she’d been left to wait. Her father had tried to take her home to shower and change but she’d refused despite what she knew she looked like. He’d eventually convinced her to go to a bathroom and wash her hands and face. She’d known she should have been shocked at her appearance, but she’d been unable to summon the horror. Calmly she’d splashed water that was a little too hot on her hands and arms and then face, scrubbing until all traces of red had been washed down the sink. Her clothes she could do nothing about and looked like she’d just walked off the set of a horror movie.

But she’d barely noticed or cared. Every time she blinked she’d been able to see him behind her eyelids. Tommy. Pale and still, not moving or responding. Dying.

She’d vomited into a toilet, the coppery smell clogging her nose. Afterwards, after the dry retching had finally stopped when she closed her eyes, she washed her mouth out, splashed her face and dug around in her purse for some pain killers for the headache that had started forming.

When she’d come out her father had made a new attempt to get her home but she’d refused. She couldn’t leave Tommy, she couldn’t trust that he’d be all right if she wasn’t there to make sure he would be. Eventually her dad had sighed and taken her keys to her apartment and gone to get her clean clothes while she sat in the waiting room.

The rest of her night had been uneventful except for a visit from Oliver who had gone as quickly as he came, leaving her fuzzy on details – aside from his injured shoulder.

And it is only Oliver that she can trust with Tommy’s care. Only Oliver loves Tommy as much as she does, so it’s safe if she leaves for a few hours. At the back of her mind she’s aware that she might not be being completely rational. The hospital is filled with doctors and nurses – people who whose job it is to care for the sick and injured. He has two bodyguards on his door, bodyguards employed by the Queens who should be enough to keep him safe.

But all the same, if Oliver hadn’t come back, she couldn’t imagine leaving. Even now, opening the door to her apartment, she wants to be back there, making sure that nothing happens to Tommy while he’s sleeping. As such she promises herself a quick shower, wash her hair and change of clothes and she’ll be back on her way.

She doesn’t even look at her bed as she lays out a fresh change of clothes and heads for the bathroom. Her head is aching and she’d like nothing better than to lie down and go to sleep. But she can’t. Not while Tommy needs her.

The shower helps, the hot water easing a tightness in her shoulders she hadn’t even been aware of, the aches from sleeping in the chair and the pounding of her head. She finds she can’t lift her arms any higher than what it takes to grab her shampoo. The water hits a dozen different cuts that she hadn’t noticed and she washes them carefully trying not to wince at the stinging. She leans her head against the glass and nearly falls asleep standing up.

Finally she all but crawls out from under the warm spray, not caring how wrinkled her skin has become. Towelling herself off is more work than she anticipated and having to force her arms up is agonising. She has to leave her hair wet, having barely rubbed enough water out to keep it from dripping. But there’s no way she can hold a hairdryer at her head for long enough to actually do any good. She’s just going to have deal with the frizzy hair for now.

A button down shirt, a comfortable pair of jeans, sneakers and she calls a cab. Her own car is crushed under the rubble of CNRI – another problem she is going to have to worry about later. She thinks about those problems as they drive through the Glades – the sunlight throwing into harsh relief the damage that’s been done. At least thinking about her own troubles is a distraction from the horrors she can see.

Finally, on the edge of the worst parts of the Glades is St Agnes’. She is grateful that the building is still standing, relatively unharmed. She doubts Tommy would have survived if they’d had to travel any further to find him help.

She pays the cab driver and steps out only to have her heart sink when she sees who’s waiting at the door to the hospital, blocking her way in to see Tommy. The press. There’s more than she would expect – she’d have thought that vultures would be out trying to rustle up a story. But then she remembers Malcolm and that there’s nothing the press would like more than to catch a glimpse – or better yet a story – of the son of the man who is responsible for the destruction of the Glades. If they’ve worked out Oliver’s inside, then all the better.

But it’s not just locals, she spots a couple of national news stations and what looks likely to be international. Lovely. Tommy is in the ICU – he might still die – the death toll in the Glades is in the hundreds and she’s going to appear on television in old clothes, frizzy hair and sans make-up.

Most of the press, though, ignores her.

“Laurel!” But not all of them. She’s dated both Tommy and Oliver, her work with CNRI, her father being one of city’s lead detectives – she even went to school with one or two of these of these guys. Starling City’s press, at the very least, know who she is and why she’s here.

Laurel doesn’t turn around, though out of the corner of her eye she several people – and camera’s – swing around. Some with a sharp twist of excitement, others a little more puzzled. She keeps moving forward ignoring the fact that she’s drawing more and more attention. A couple of people run in front of her, and then have to move backwards quickly as she doesn’t stop or slow down. Microphones are shoved in her face, she shields herself with an arm and reminds herself that hitting someone would be a very bad idea.

“Laurel, what’s Tommy’s condition?”

“Laurel, what are you going to do now that CNRI has been destroyed?”

“Did Tommy know what was going to happen?”

“Have Oliver and Thea been smuggled out of the country?”

“Who else is involved?”

She doesn’t answer any of them and once she’s inside she’s greeted with… not silence… but at least no one is talking at her, demanding answers. There’s less panic in the air now, but there’s still people with serious injuries waiting for doctors and an aura of horror and pain simmers. Laurel averts her eyes. She was able to help a little last night, but now she’s drained and scared she has very little left to give anyone.

She buys a coffee at the stand and then makes the girl remake it when she puts in skim milk, instead of soy. The girl makes a face but does as asked. Laurel almost doesn’t tip her, but thinks the girl might have family who have been hurt or are missing and doubles what she might have otherwise left instead. She receives a tired ‘thanks’ in response.

The elevator to the ICU is slow and full. Laurel leans against the back wall, sips her coffee and closes her eyes for a few blissful seconds. But any rest is interrupted all too soon by a ding indicating she needs to disembark.

She finds the ICU is quieter than the ground floor; there are only a few people in the corridors and most of them enter rooms pretty quickly or talk quietly to each other and staff with little regard for anything else. Certainly no one is paying her attention or clamouring for answers.

Laurel finds Oliver just down from Tommy’s room, propped against a vending machine chugging back an energy drink. As she approaches he tosses the empty can in a recycling bin and turns back for another.

“Hey,” she says when she’s close enough to whisper.

He starts a little and turns to look at her. “Hey.” He leans in and kisses her softly. “Do you want one?” He indicates the vending machine and starts to feed in coins, punching a button for another energy drink.

Laurel holds up her coffee. “I’m good.” Good being a subjective term at the point in time. She takes a sip. It’s not great coffee, but it’s helping. A little, anyway. “How is he?”

“Still asleep. The doctor said that’s normal. How are _you_?” his hand rises to the small of her back as they walk down the corridor to Tommy’s room.

“I’m fine.”

“You know, I’ve been telling people that, too. I don’t mean it either.” They pause and Laurel leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. “Why didn’t you stay home and get some rest?” He pulls her a little closer, and wraps both arms around her, her head ending up on his chest.

“No. I am fine.”

There’s a soft pressure on the top of her head. She shivers and buries herself deeper into his chest. He responds by tightening his arms. They stand there for a long time, drawing comfort from one another. He’s warm and familiar and comfortable which she needs so much right now. She can only hope she’s providing some comfort for him.

After what could be minutes or hours or even days she pulls back and looks up at him. He smiles and it’s sad and sweet but only lasts a couple of seconds.

In Laurel’s experience, if she’s tired enough, it’s a lot like being drunk. The world becomes soft and fuzzy and doesn’t completely make sense. Reactions and reflexes become dulled. Any choices she makes – no matter how good they seem at the time – tend to be very bad ones.

So when Oliver kisses her, she kisses him back. The soft warmth of his lips becomes the most real part of her world, the insistent press of his tongue her focus. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’s aware this is not a good idea but the thought is pushed aside when a hand comes up to tangle in her hair, yanking at it lightly. She hums against his mouth.

Her back hits a wall before she’s even aware they’re moving. Oliver’s fumbling with something to the right, she’s not sure what because she’s too busy kissing him and pretending it’s a good idea. That someone could walk along the hall and disturb them at any time is not something that she’s completely comfortable with. But she doesn’t stop him.

It turns out he is searching for a door handle and when he finds it he pushes the door open and manoeuvres them inside. The room is small and dark, empty, but Oliver unerringly pulls them down on a couch. A small lounge of some sort. Out of the corner of her eye she can even see a kitchenette.

Oliver starts trailing fire down the side of her neck with his lips. She brings her hands up to find she’s still clutching her cup of coffee. She has no idea what happened to his drink, but she manages to get the cup to a small side table. The way Oliver is unbuttoning her shirt is far more interesting. His fingers brush her skin ever so lightly, sending tingles of pleasure through her. His breath brushes her collarbone and his hair tickles the underside of his shin. She runs her finger tips up and down his spine, avoiding scar tissue.

He starts working on her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping and slipping his hands in to cup her buttocks, pulling her closer. She rocks on to him only to find he’s mostly hard. She throws her head back and his lips travel down so his tongue can swipe the edge of her bra. Too many barriers separate them so she tilts his head back up so she can kiss him again and start unbuttoning his shirt.

Her brain send up another alert. They’re still in a public space, Tommy is down the hall and they really should go down to see him, she’s still not sure of what she feels for either man. But most of her is consumed with trying to figure out the logistics of the next step and why it’s taking Oliver so long to get her bra off and maybe she should do it herself because she really doesn’t want him to stop kissing her.

A whisper of sound is her only warning before she finds herself being set on her feet and pressed once again to Oliver’s chest.

“What do you want?” Oliver snaps.

Laurel looks up to find him glaring over his shoulder at the door. She ducks her head back down again, using him as a shield and resists the urge to swear. Quickly she starts pulling her clothes back into place and doing them up. This is not the first time they’ve been caught in a compromising position in public before.

“You can’t do that in here, man.”

Laurel cringes a little. Aren’t they a little old to be doing something that could get them arrested for public indecency – they’re lucky it never happened in the past. She starts on Oliver’s shirt.

“None of your business.” His hands still hers as she goes to tuck the shirt in and he squeezes her fingers. He tugs her against his side and she keeps her face averted as they pass the man in the door.

“Aren’t you Oliver Queen?” the man asked and his tone is enough to make Laurel’s blood freeze. She tenses and waits for a fight.

“Of course not. Oliver Queen fled the country with his sister. It was on the news.” Oliver keeps walking. Laurel doesn’t look up.

“Just like him. Run away again. His best friend is here in this hospital…” 

Against her, every one of his muscles tense up. “Don’t.” She pitches her voice as low as she can get it and still have him hear it. 

He relaxes minutely. “Excuse us. We have family to visit.”

Still keeping her face turned away, Laurel leads Oliver down the hall and around the corner – away from Tommy’s room. They wait there for several minutes, Oliver leaning on the wall, arms looped around Laurel’s waist. She keeps her hands on his chest, listening intently in the hope that she’ll know when it’s safe to go back to Tommy’s room. But eventually they both judge it to be safe and head back.

At Tommy’s door, doing her best to ignore the bodyguards and cops – supremely glad that they mostly missed the earlier show – Laurel stops and waits for Oliver to focus on her. “Did you ride your bike here?” she asks him.

“Why?”

“Don’t fall off. I don’t want to have split my time between two hospital beds.” 

For a moment she thinks he might be about to attempt being obtuse. But he finally nods, eyes closed. He opens them and presses a kiss to her cheek. He’s gone before she can say another word.

She watches him go, not thinking about how to sift through her feelings for both of them and try to come up with an answer. Not thinking about how Tommy nearly died saving her life – and he might still die. She doesn’t think about how tired she is or how scared she is. She doesn’t think at all. And after a while she pushes open the door to Tommy’s room.

He’s still lying, quiet and still. His skin is more ashen than she remembers but the machines read the same as when she left. And she studied those machines carefully before Oliver arrived, trying to understand them and what they mean. She supposes that if they haven’t changed then it can’t be bad news. But she wishes he would wake up and assure her that he’s all right.

To distract herself from worrying about his health and their relationship (whatever it might now be), she switches on the small television in the corner of his room and finds a news channel. Any hopes she might have of not being on the news are completely dashed when they show a clip of her entering the hospital and minutes later one of Oliver leaving and being subjected to the same barrage of questions she’d endured. She is impressed that the clip has been shown so quickly – it can’t have been more than ten minutes since Oliver left the hospital.

The next minute they’re talking about the confirmed deaths and the estimated death toll. They’re talking about how many people have been reported missing, how many people are estimated to be seriously injured. The numbers are staggering. And she’s met the person who is responsible for those numbers. She’s been in the same room with him.

Her opinion of Malcolm Merlyn has never been especially high. She suspects that although she’s been in his presence a handful of times, he probably only really noticed her in their most recent encounter. Prior to that it’s likely he saw her as nothing more than the girl hanging off Oliver’s arm. But for her part, she’s had years of Tommy’s ambivalence and occasional outright animosity towards his father. Years of watching how often the man didn’t turn up to parent his son. Years in which to form a not particularly favourable opinion of him.

But she never would have expected an evil like this. Not when Tommy is anything but.

The media has very little facts to go on – they have only the tragedy itself and Moira Queen’s public confession. So they’re happy to run with all kinds of speculation. Happier probably. Right now, though, Laurel has no other source of information either so she watches while trying to sift between truth, exaggeration and speculation. But she is so tired and so worried that eventually her eyes start to drift shut and she powerless to do anything to stop them.

The last thing she’s aware of is that parts of the city could be without power for months.

-x-x-x-

She’s not sure what wakes her. Only her body seems to be at war with itself. Mostly she just wants to go back to sleep, certainly her eyes seem determined to stay closed, but every part of her aches. Torn between pain and exhaustion it takes a few seconds for her to remember where she is and why. She forces herself to wake up in stages.

She opens her eyes first and what she sees drives everything else away. Tommy is blinking at her, eyes still heavy with sleep, brows pulled down.

She sits up abruptly, more awake than she’s been in a while. “Tommy?”

“Hey.” His voice is scratchy. When he tries to move, he stops suddenly grimacing in pain. His eyes close and he bites his lip. “Mph.”

“Stay still. I’m going to find a doctor.” And it might be cowardice but it doesn’t change the fact that he needs to be checked over.

“Laurel?” He calls and she can hear the confusion in his voice.

She closes the door behind her and tries not to flinch guiltily. Three faces peer at her in confusion – one of the cops is missing and she wonders what that means or if it means anything at all. She ignores the remaining officer – a different one than when she was last out here – and turns to the bodyguards. “Can you call Oliver and tell him Tommy is awake?” she asks. “He’ll want to know.”

“Of course, Ms Lance.” One of them pulls out a cell phone to do just that.

“If Mr. Merlyn is awake then he will need to be questioned,” the uniformed officer says.

But Laurel is not willing to let that happen. “Not until the doctor has cleared him and he has his lawyer present.” She’s more than willing to perform that role but it is Tommy decision.

She pushes down the hall to find someone who can tell her where to find Tommy’s doctor. The search takes her several minutes longer than she comfortable leaving him alone. The nurses seem to be obstructive more than helpful and no ‘remembers’ who Tommy’s doctor is and where that might that doctor have been.

“I’m beginning to think it’s lucky he made it of surgery alive.” The nurse in front of her winces. She becomes more cooperative when Laurel threatens a law suit – she feels bad about it but her concern for Tommy outweighs any desire to temper her mood. The doctor is found in short order and Laurel follows her back to Tommy’s room.

Laurel’s relatively sure she should be waiting outside but neither Tommy nor the doctor send her away so she stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame watching quietly. The doctor examines him with a sharpness that seems bitter, her questions short and her answers shorter. Laurel has to really push for information when Tommy seems disinclined to do so.

“You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Merlyn. This injury should have killed you.”

Neither Tommy nor Laurel miss the double meaning in her words. Tommy pushes himself up on his arms, opening his mouth. But Laurel swoops in before he has a chance to say anything. She is _not_ letting this go any further.

“Tommy had nothing to do with the earthquake.” She keeps her voice low and threatening. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides, jaw set, eyes never leaving the doctor’s face. The doctor takes a step back. “He was hurt saving me.”

There’s a soft grunt and Tommy drops back to the bed. “Laurel.” When she looks over, he’s holding his hand out to her.

Immediately, she responds, turning back to him and tangling her fingers through his and squeezing them tightly. Tears burn in her eyes and she has to blink them back.

“Hey. It’s okay.”

She closes her eyes for a moment before nodding.

“Is there anything else, doctor?” he asks.

“I’ll make sure the nurse comes by soon to check on you.” She whirls and she’s gone, out the door. As it shuts behind her, Laurel hears a murmur of voices and assumes that the doctor is confirming Tommy’s condition with the cop outside. When nobody bursts in, Laurel assumes that the doctor has at least told the uniform that Tommy isn’t well enough yet.

Once they’re alone, Tommy looks up at Laurel, still standing there, hovering, but not releasing his hand. He makes another attempt at propping himself up. His body however has other ideas and refuses to obey. If Laurel would give him his other hand he might manage a slight lift, but she’s not willing to release her grip.

“Easy.” A light press of her palm and he’s on his back again. His lack of strength is disturbing.

“Can you sit down? You’re making me nervous, hovering like that.” He squeezes her fingers again, lightly.

She nods and pulls the chair close enough for her to sink into, the motion is awkward seeing as she’s still reluctant to let his hand go. He watches her. His eyes skin down her body, taking note of her injuries, her splinted fingers, the cuts and bruises. She doesn’t tell that for all of that, she still looks better than him.

“What happened?” he asks. She can sleep is dragging at him, pulling him down but he is fighting it.

“What do you remember?” she asks, staring at their linked fingers, her knuckles covered in a strip of gauze, his bare aside from a few torn finger nails.

His gaze turns inward. “I was worried about you so I went to CNRI.” And he found her trapped. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, she would have died there, certainly. “And then the building collapsed.”

“You saved me. The Vigilante pulled you out, do you remember that?”

He’s frowning. “No.”

“It’s only because of him that you’re here.” 

“If I see him again, I’ll have to thank him.” There’s no trace of sarcasm in his tone and she guesses that while Tommy is not the Vigilante’s biggest fan, having your life saved would have an effect.

“Where is Oliver?” he asks. Then he winces and she hopes he isn’t in any pain – if he is, she will have that doctor back here to do something about it. But he’s looking sleepy, relaxed, so he’s probably all right.

“Sleeping, hopefully.” At that she yawns, rolling her shoulders. If possible, she feels more tired than before. On the screen behind her, flashes a picture of a man she recognises as the grandfather of a high school friend. Scrolling text at the bottom announces that a new arrest has been made. She focusses back on Tommy find him also watching the screen. “He was hurt. He wouldn’t say how,” she says.

“Where’s my father?” The words are soft with a slight break on the possessive. He doesn’t glance her way, his eyes stay glued to the television. But the tension in his face, his whole body tell her the importance of the question.

Laurel’s swallows. She squeezes his fingers. “No one knows. They think he fought the Vigilante – they found a lot of blood on the roof of his building, but no bodies. I’m sorry.” Her own words trigger some memory but she’s so tired it slips away and she’s left frustrated at the not knowing. There’s something she’s missing, but she doesn’t know what.

Tommy nods and she can almost see him stop fighting his exhaustion. His lips move soundlessly forming the shape of words that he’s not speaking. His eyes drift shut and his breathing evens out quickly. Laurel leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead and then settles in to wait.

By the time Oliver – with Thea in tow – shows up a couple of hours later, Laurel is back to dozing in her chair. 

“Come on.” Oliver slides an arm under her shoulders and all but lifts her to her feet, keeping her tucked in against him.

“Mmm?” she says.

“How long have you been awake, Laurel?” Thea asks.

“Nearly thirty six hours,” Oliver answers for her.

“I’ve slept a little,” Laurel says with a yawn. Maybe a couple of hours in total.

There’s a faint vibration that she interprets as him laughing. “Really? Come on. Thea’s going to stay, you’re going to get some sleep.”

Thea. Okay. She’s trustworthy enough. Thea’s okay. Laurel figures next to herself and Oliver, Thea’s the best choice.

“Okay,” she says out loud. The Queen siblings are both giving her identical looks that are beyond her ability to understand at this moment in time. She leans her head on Oliver’s shoulder, and he reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Her eyes have drifted back to Tommy who remains soundly asleep but they snap to Thea at the younger girl’s sharp intake of breath. She is staring at Oliver and Laurel but her gaze flicks over at Tommy for a second. She bites her lip, frowning.

Oliver begins to drag Laurel out the door promising a slightly wide-eyed Thea he’d return in a few hours and asking her not to go anywhere alone. Laurel’s last look at Tommy includes Thea settling into the chair, calling a goodbye over her shoulder.

In the elevator, Laurel just leans against Oliver, allowing him to take her weight. She’s still not sure she’s giving him the right signals or knows what she wants from their relationship but she’d too tired to think clearly. So she just closes her eyes and uses him as a balance against the change in weight caused by their descent. 

The reprieve isn’t long before he’s guiding her into the hospital lobby. “Are you ready?” he asks her and she remembers the reporters hovering outside the door.

“No.” The thought of having to face the onslaught is enough to want her to head straight back to Tommy’s room. Her instincts are already to trying to drive her back up here and now it’s all she can do not to fight against the direction Oliver’s leading her into. “Ollie, please?” She doesn’t want to hear the accusations they’re going to make, the words they’re going to throw at the two of them.

But he guides her through the doors and keeps her protected from the worst of the shouting. Most of it is aimed at him anyway. She keeps a fist curled in his shirt and her head down trying not to panic at the crowding bodies and shouted questions. Oliver keeps one hand shielding her face and the other to ward away anyone who comes too close. They have to move slowly and the walk to his car seems almost interminable – as is the trip out of the car park. But once they’re free of the reporters the world goes back to ignoring them.

Laurel sinks back into her seat and closes her eyes. Once they’re shut she finds herself disinclined to open them. She’s so painfully tired and everything hurts. At least when she can’t see anything there’s one less source of agony. Distantly she’s aware of the trip taking too long but she’s far gone enough that she can’t quite manage to summon a coherent thought. Only when the car comes to a complete stop, motor dying away that she can open her eyes and take in her surroundings.

“Why are we here? I thought you were taking me home.” Right now there’s nowhere she wants more than her bed.

Oliver opens her door and offers her a hand out. Immediately, he wraps an arm around her waist again and she leans into him studiously not thinking about the decisions she still has to make. “I had Raisa prepare you a room.”

In a guest room, there is a bed made up with a towel and a toothbrush and paste and a pair of pyjamas. Laurel has no idea where the pyjamas came from but she’s willing to lay odds that no one in the Queen family has ever worn them. Oliver kisses her on the cheek and leaves her be – much to her appreciation. 

She’s not thinking clearly, she knows she’s not thinking clearly. She’s in love with Oliver, she wants him, wants to be with him. But there’s her feelings for Tommy to take into consideration. She’s not ready to shut the door on that relationship. She’s not ready to say goodbye to him. And, realistically speaking, being with Oliver will probably kill any relationship she has with Tommy. She not sure the reverse is true. In fact, even with her sleeping with Oliver she is reasonably certain he will retreat if she asked him to – he’d never been particularly possessive or jealous (not that he’d any right to either of those emotions).

Lastly there is how they feel about each other. In the past there were parts of their relationship she has studiously ignored. And she can’t claim it makes her a better person but she was always so afraid of being left alone that’d been easier to pretend it wasn’t happening. To her knowledge, they haven’t been physically intimate in nearly a decade but in her experience both of them are capable of running far and fast at the sign of any meaningful emotion. Now with the universe crumbling at their feet, she feels that maybe there’s no certainty anywhere.

As selfish as it makes her, she wants both of them to be part of her life. However that can be interpreted.

And on that unsettling thought she’s crawling into bed and falling into a deep sleep.

-x-x-x-

She wakes to a light tapping on the door. On her answer, Thea enters carrying a familiar tote slung over one shoulder. She dumps it on the end of the bed while Laurel blinks at her in confusion.

“Thea?” The her head is muddled and there’s nothing she’d like better than to fall back asleep.

“Clothes. Oliver said I shouldn’t wake you but I thought you’d like dinner and not to wake up at three am.”

Laurel digs into the bag to find her own clothes this time. “Thanks, Thea.” There’s two full outfits – Thea hasn’t missed an item from the shoes up.

“Ollie’s at the hospital. Dinner’s in twenty minutes.” She hesitates at the door while Laurel struggles out from under the covers. After a second or two she steps back into the room while Laurel tugs out jeans and a sweater.

Vaguely discomforted by Thea’s stare, Laurel nevertheless starts dressing. It takes her three tries to put on the sweater. Both socks end up on inside out the first try.

“So are you with Ollie, now, or are you and Tommy still a thing?” the question is more puzzled than accusing.

Laurel takes her time in answering. There are many possible answers. There are many possible true answers on top of an outright lie. Eventually Laurel sighs. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

The words are out of Laurel’s mouth before she can stop them. She blames the extreme exhaustion. “It’s complicated.”

Thea stares for a second and Laurel notes the shadows under her eyes. Then the younger woman snorts. “Well, if anyone’s earned the right to that, I guess it’s you three.”

Laurel opens her mouth to reply but then bites back the snappy comment because Thea’s not wrong. Instead she heads towards the small en suite to splash some water on her face.

Dinner is quiet, just her and Thea eating in thoughtful silence with no mention of what has happened in the last day. At Thea’s convincing, Laurel watches a movie she vaguely recalls seeing with Oliver at the cinema many years ago; which is just as well because she ends up dozing through most of it. And when it’s over she climbs the stairs groggy and wanting nothing so much as bed. She’s awake for a few minutes after climbing under the heavy covers, but quickly drops back to sleep.

She wakes some time in the night to the feeling of being watched. There’s a weight at her feet and she tenses, afraid. For the first time in what feels like days she’s suddenly completely and utterly awake. A dark shadow sits on the end of her bed and she stares at it, trying to make it out. She wonders what it’s doing in her room.

But it morphs into the shape of Oliver. “Ollie?” she asks, hearing the croakiness in her own voice.

His face is expression is dark and unreadable. She panics. “Tommy!” She struggles out of the covers intending to do…something.

“He’s fine.” Oliver holds up a hand, unconsciously reaching for her. “He woke up a couple of times, but they kicked me out at the end of visiting hours.”

Laurel flops back on the pillows, any trace of adrenalin fading abruptly. “What time is it?” She still wants to see Tommy but if it’s the end of visiting hours then she should probably sleep first. Her eyes start to drift closed as if by some external force.

“A little after midnight.” His voice is still so heavy, weighted. She wonders what he’s thinking about.

She squirms back in her bed and flicks at the covers in invitation. By the time he slides in with her, less than two minutes later, she’s mostly back asleep. But she has enough awareness to mould herself against him when he pulls her close, arms tight around her.

-x-x-x-

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Arrow. The title comes from the lyrics of 'The Easy Way' by Dar Williams.
> 
> I began this not long after I started ‘Nothing’s Set in Stone’, but it refused to be written in order so I had to wait until I had enough of te beginning to post). It is also important to note that while most of chapters 4-6 have been written, most of chapters 2-3 have not.
> 
> Also when I say this is smutty? Yeah. This is smutty. (from chapter two onwards)


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